The Sweetest Torture
by LolaB
Summary: A short, sexy little piece with a twist...


**The Sweetest Torture**

**by Lola B.**

**12.07.04 (updated 4/06)**

**Setting: **Undisclosed.

**Content: **They're dykes, and they're restless. Draw your own conclusions. :P

**Authors Notes: **Just a fun little vignette. :) (Can you tell I feel like being all mysterious?...)

I own no one. (...Well, I get pretty possessive about my girlfriend, but thats about it.)

Anyhoo. Enjoy.

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You return from the lake just before I finish up with my sword. You'd wanted me to come with you, but I declined this time. Usually I wouldn't dare miss an opportunity to stare at your flawless form, slick with lake water, descend beneath the surface before turning around coyly and beckoning me to follow with one finger and a grin that brings me to my knees every time... often literally.

But sometimes - tonight - I crave only the thoughts of what will come.

...Or in this case, who.

Sometimes, watching you amble back to the campsite, dripping wet and draped in one of my thin shifts which, invariably, will be too big on you (not that it matters, the way the water causes that gauzy fabric to cling to your curves)... it takes my breath away. After so many battles with you by my side - so much pain, so much death and horror - it seems very little can take my breath anymore.

But you... oh, gods.

You're back now, everything I'd pictured - and I do picture it, my love... oh, do I ever. All the while you're gone, I sit sharpening my sword and I can hear your faint splashing, and I imagine what you must look like: that lean, perfectly toned figure slicing the water, emerging breathless on the shore, wringing the water from your hair as the moonlight dances over your skin.

You have the most incredible skin, have I ever told you that? You must know; I can't seem to keep my hands off it.

But you're back, and I don't even notice that my hands have ceased their rhythmic motion against the sword and the stone has fallen from my fingers, until a low giggle rolls up from your throat. I can't tear my eyes away.

Anticipation truly is the sweetest torture.

"Two years and you still drop your stone every time."

I swallow. Hard.

"Well, if you didn't... walk around... _like that_..." I begin to protest, stupidly.

You smile, peeling the shift off over your head and walking forward, kneeling in front of me as you take the sword from my limp hand and drop it to the ground beside the stone. "Like what?"

That's all it takes, and I've lifted your slender body into my arms and onto the bedrolls. I hadn't bothered smoothing them out, as I knew they'd be in shambles by the time we were through with them.

You laugh as I pin you beneath me. You've grown strong over the past two years, and I know you could flip me over if I let you. But I don't, and you're content to be dominated. Tonight. This time, at least.

I feel delicate fingers crawling down over my back, nails just grazing the surface, not hard - not yet - but testing my resistance. At last I capture your lips, and as always, lose myself in your taste. The contrast of skin cooled by water against the searing blaze of your tongue is more than I can take without the loss of rational thought, and before I know it my vulnerability has become my downfall, and you've rolled me over onto my back.

You're so small and light, you know; there's really no point to your being on top. But you relish it, flashing me a smile so triumphant, so victorious, I can't help but smile back. Your wandering hands capture mine at my sides, and draw them up over my head until they are pinned beneath yours, as you reclaim my mouth with a vigor astonishing even for you.

Long, wet strands of hair fall against my cheeks, my shoulders... and I remember the first time I saw you. The first time I'd stumbled through your village. Oh, how you begged me to take you with me. I wanted to, you know. I put up a fight, perhaps... but I wanted to more than anything. I wanted to take you... I wanted _you._ How could I not? You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I remember exactly what shade of blonde your hair was in that light, and the wide eyes you fixed on me. You've never really looked away since, have you?

"Xena..."

A single word - unusual for you; one who loves to talk so much. You always know when to keep quiet, though. Come to think of it, you aren't nearly as liberal with words as you were when I first met you. I suppose we've found other ways to communicate. You, through your eyes... and me... well, I've always spoken with a sword, haven't I?

You're starting to learn that. Starting? For Zeus sake; you've mastered half my techniques already. Sometimes it just frightens me... and sometimes the sight of you in battle is the most intoxicating turn-on you could ever imagine..

I'm not wearing much besides my leathers, but you pull me up, carefully running your hands over my torso before sliding them around to the back to unhook the last restraints that stand between us. Your eyes are so intent as you work the confines off my body; why is that? Whether you're fighting an army of Persians or braiding your hair out of boredom, your eyes possess the same intensity.

I'm sure its one of the reasons I fell for you - one of countless many.

Finally I kneel before you, completely exposed. Your eyes dance over my body, as though preparing your attack, then dart up to meet mine, twinkling. I know what you want, and I smile, because you always read my mind at these moments.

Your lips hover beside my ear. "Don't presume to know what I want."

You've pushed me back against the blankets again, sliding over me until our tongues meet once more, converging, as your hand disappears between my legs, slipping inside. My eyes begin to lose focus, and I am yours. Unbidden, but completely.

Well, so much for your being submissive tonight.

I let you, though - I let you take me because I so rarely do and you so often try, and surely you deserve a reward after the exhilarating visual you gave me earlier. If I never see you again after tonight (impossible, I know), that imprint in my mind will be ablaze even in death that image of you coming into the light of the campfire, tossing your remaining bit of clothing to the side, and closing the last feet of space between us.

As I am seconds from release, your hand suddenly slows its rhythm, and my eyes shoot open.

"Don't you dare," I choke, shocked there is any trace left of my verbal abilities.

You oblige wordlessly, in a more generous mood than usual, and not terribly interested in making me fight. Not tonight.

But you won't let me off this easy, I know that. You want something. You want me to remember to know that it's you, no other, who can bring me to this.

Like I could forget.

"Say my name," you whisper.

And I do. The last three coherent syllables either of us will hear tonight.

_"Callisto..."_

(finis.)

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(Author's Note: -evil cackle- Who said Xena never had a chick before Gabrielle:D)

(Setting, now disclosed: pre-SOTP. :P)


End file.
